Fast Cars and Freedom
by cheride
Summary: It starts with PopTarts, ends with pizza, and has a race in the middle. What could lure Mark away from Hardcastle?


_Fast Cars and Freedom- Cheride_

_Rating: PG_

_Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction for entertainment purposes only. The characters and concepts of Hardcastle & McCormick do not belong to me, but to their creators. _

**A/N:** Just a special shout-out to Rascal Flatts, whose recent song has absolutely nothing to do with this story, but whose title immediately caused it to spring to mind.

And, as always, many thanks to L.M. Lewis, who grits her teeth and tolerates my freewheeling approach to POV, and always keeps me pointed in the right direction. Someone get that woman a warm Pop-Tart.

* * *

"Judge?" Mark McCormick tried to make the word sound perfectly normal, but he was pretty sure a deaf man would've heard the hesitation in his tone.

Milton Hardcastle tried to hide the small smile. "All right, kiddo, let's hear it. What do you want?"

"What?"

The retired judge shook his head. "Don't give me that, McCormick. You did all your chores today without a single complaint; you offered to cook dinner tonight when it was my turn, and you still did the dishes; and you didn't even bitch when I wanted to watch the news instead of that goofy movie of yours. You're not foolin' anyone with that routine, so what do you want?"

McCormick chuckled and relaxed a bit in his chair. But then his eyebrows rose up into his curly brown hair. "Hey! You knew all day I wanted to ask you something, and you still let me do all that stuff?"

Hardcastle just shrugged unapologetically. "So? I deserve a peaceful day every now and then."

"Well, it's funny you should mention that, Judge," McCormick replied, thinking Hardcastle couldn't have given him a better opening, "how would you like a few more peaceful days? Say, next weekend, maybe?"

"Why don't you go ahead and spill it, McCormick?" The judge glared across the room, though the truth was it amused him to see the kid trying to figure the angles.

The ex-con took a breath. "I'd like a few days off, Judge. And, I'd like permission to leave the state."

Hardcastle's glare became a little more real. "You're gonna have to spill a lot more than that," he growled.

Mark nodded. "I got a call last night from EJ Corlette," he began slowly. At Hardcastle's impatient gesture, he went on, "He's been working with this designer on a car. He was supposed to drive it when it was finished, but, since he's out of racing now, that won't be happening. Anyway, their design includes some pretty specific engine modifications, and they'd like to make sure it's what they're hoping for before they build it into their prototype. So, they've worked up an engine in another car, and they want to run it, see how it performs in a real race. They want me to drive it for them." When Hardcastle didn't respond, McCormick continued, "Next weekend. In Reno." The judge still wasn't talking, so Mark kept explaining. "It's just a test run for the engine, Judge. They aren't finished with the car. They just need a little help. It's one weekend, Judge. Whatta ya say?"

Hardcastle continued to stare, wondering what it was he was missing. McCormick hadn't been this reluctant to ask the first time he'd wanted to take advantage of a racing opportunity, and that had been over a year ago. Why would he expect to be turned down this time? He gave a mental shrug. Doubtful he would ever completely understand this kid, anyway. "Of course it's okay, McCormick; it'll be fun. Maybe we can go out a day or so early and do a little fishin' at the lake, work off a little tension before you drive?"

The judge was surprised to see that McCormick hadn't relaxed upon hearing the answer. If anything, the young man actually seemed to grow more tense. Honestly, trying to understand Mark McCormick was enough to make a man insane. "What?" Hardcastle grumped. "I said yes, ya know. Isn't this the part where you should thank me?"

McCormick nodded slowly, his eyes not quite meeting Hardcastle's. "Yeah."

"McCormick," Hardcastle grumbled in frustration, "what is the matter?"

Still not looking at the judge, Mark spoke softly. "I thought maybe I could go alone, Judge."

_Well, that explains it, then_, Hardcastle thought. "Why?" The question was out before he had a chance to think about it.

McCormick grinned just a little; a confused Hardcastle could be a fun thing, though that hadn't been his intention. He shrugged and looked back at the older man. "I just thought we might could use a little break is all," he explained. "I mean, jeez, Judge, sometimes it's like we're joined at the hip."

"I didn't realize I was crampin' your style so much, McCormick," Hardcastle responded forcefully, unwilling to admit that the kid's words carried just a bit of a sting.

But McCormick had gotten used to reading the hidden meanings in the judge's words, and he felt a twinge of guilt. "That's not what I meant, Hardcase."

"Really?" the judge growled.

Mark locked his eyes onto the older pair across the room. "Really. But let's be honest about this, Judge. The last time I took you to a race, things didn't exactly go according to plan. Thanks to you, my crew chief tried to kill me, and you ended up arresting my sponsor. That's not exactly the fast track to success, ya know. Call me superstitious, but I'd just as soon not risk a repeat performance."

Hardcastle shook his head. "It's not like I was trying to cause you trouble, kid."

McCormick let out a small sigh. "I know that," he said softly, looking away quickly, "but…"

And, watching the young man struggle to balance what he so clearly wanted against his constant—if unspoken—desire to please, Hardcastle felt himself relent. He grinned. "But, you don't think I can help myself, eh, kiddo?"

McCormick jerked his eyes back to the judge. "Maybe something like that," he returned with a small laugh. The laughter faded from his eyes. "It really is just a weekend, Judge."

Hardcastle examined him for just a moment longer. "You'll behave?" he asked, only partly joking.

"Absolutely," McCormick replied, not joking at all.

The judge nodded. "Okay." He paused, then winked at his young friend. "But does this mean you'll be back to bitching about your chores again tomorrow?"

McCormick just laughed as he grabbed the television remote and settled back in his chair.

**00000**

The week had passed uneventfully, though McCormick was certain Hardcastle wasn't entirely pleased with his decision to allow this brief taste of true independence. The judge was a pretty hands-on kind of guy, and didn't usually take well to the position of uninvolved observer. Even so, Mark thought Hardcastle had seemed even more annoyed than usual for the past few days, and it was starting to worry him just a bit.

As he dropped a duffel bag into the Coyote on his way to the main house, McCormick found himself wondering yet again what, exactly, was troubling Hardcastle. Honestly, there was no way it was really a question of trust. True, in the past week, the jurist had given warnings and admonitions ranging from, "Don't do anything stupid" and, "Don't expect me to bail your butt out of jail", to—Mark's personal favorite—"I can have an APB issued in Nevada, too, ya know", but McCormick knew he didn't mean any of it. Sometime during the last year and a half, McCormick had realized that Hardcastle probably never really considered him anything approaching a true criminal. And, if there had been a time when the judge thought his young assistant might try to skip out on his unusual parole arrangement, that time had passed long ago.

No, whatever was bothering Hardcastle had nothing to do with the law. But knowing what it wasn't hadn't made it any easier to figure out what it _was_, and Mark was frustrated. _Stubborn donkey_, he thought, as he opened the front door, then made his way through the house to the kitchen.

Hardcastle looked up from the table, coffee cup in hand. "I wasn't sure your alarm worked at this hour of the day."

McCormick grinned as he poured his own cup of coffee, worries pushed aside by such normal banter. "It is a little early," he admitted, "but we need to get in some practice runs today. EJ is expecting me there by three."

The judge nodded. "Makes sense. Though I don't like the idea of you driving on so little sleep. Bad enough on the highway, but on the track…"

"Never knew you were such a worry-wart," Mark replied lightly, carrying the coffee to the table. He sat down across from Hardcastle and grinned at the jurist. "Worried about your favorite ex-con, huh?"

"Humph! I just don't wanna have to end up hiring somebody to do all the yard work around here when you wind up in traction."

"Okay," McCormick chuckled, "then I'll be careful. I'm pretty sure listenin' to you bellyache about the chores would be worse than the traction, anyway. I'll save myself the grief." He took a long swallow from his cup, then spoke more sincerely. "Is everything okay, Judge?"

Hardcastle raised an eyebrow speculatively. "Course it is, why?"

The young man shrugged as he rose from the table and crossed back to the cabinet. "I dunno. You've just been a little…testy lately." He grabbed a box off the shelf, then turned to face the judge, leaning casually against the counter. He managed a slight grin. "And I think I've been pretty good this week, Hardcase, so what's up?"

The jurist look back at him with an expression somewhere between a scowl and a grin. "Don't be ridiculous, McCormick. You're imagining things."

"I might have a pretty active fantasy life," McCormick conceded, "but the one thing I never have to imagine is you in a bad mood. Why don't you just tell me what's buggin' you?" He opened a foil wrapper, "You want a Pop-Tart?" then ignored the judge's negative shake of the head, and popped four apple cinnamon snacks into the toaster. He glanced behind him. "So?"

But Hardcastle just shook his head again. "So, nothin', McCormick. I told ya, nothin's wrong. Long as you're back here Sunday in time to cook dinner, I'll be happy."

"Not a problem," Mark agreed, though he wasn't convinced. "Racing Saturday, and driving back Sunday. I'll be home by six."

"All right, then." Hardcastle rose from his chair. "Come into the den when those are done."

McCormick just grinned as he watched the older man disappear out the door. "Stubborn donkey."

**00000**

McCormick stepped into the den munching on one of the Pop-Tarts. Two others were wrapped in foil for the drive, and the last one was on a paper plate, which he held out to Hardcastle.

"I told you I didn't want one," the judge said as he bit into the pastry.

"I know," Mark replied with a grin, "just like always. So what's up? I gotta get go- -" he broke off as he saw the manila file folder lying in the middle of Hardcastle's desk.

"What?" Hardcastle demanded, catching the sudden glare.

"You know what," McCormick answered with a pointed look at the file. "No working alone this weekend."

"Oh, please," Hardcastle started to object, but McCormick held up his hand to stop the words.

"I'm serious, Judge. You do all the research you want, but you better not try going after anybody until I get back."

"Never knew you were such a worry-wart," Hardcastle teased mildly, but McCormick would not be put off.

"_Hardcastle_…"

The judge grinned slightly at the threatening tone. "Okay, kid, don't go gettin' your shorts in a wad. I'll sit around like a feeble homebody and wait until you get back to take care of me."

"Okay," McCormick agreed, returning the grin.

_Damn kid_, Hardcastle thought, shaking his head in rueful resignation. _Turns into a mother hen quicker than anyone I've ever known._ But he was still grinning as he walked behind the desk and pulled an envelope from the drawer. "Here," he said, tossing it across the open space.

McCormick grabbed it clumsily, trying to make sure his breakfast didn't end up on the floor in the process. "What's this?"

"I just thought you might need some traveling money," Hardcastle said gruffly. "But it's not much," he added quickly, "so don't go crazy in the casinos, or anything."

"Thanks, Judge," McCormick answered as he shoved the envelope into his pocket. "And don't worry; I told you I'd behave, remember?"

"Just see that _you_ remember, McCormick," Hardcastle instructed. He rose from his chair and began herding the young man toward the door. "Now get out of here before it gets any later. You're supposed to be there by three, and there's not enough in that envelope for speeding tickets."

McCormick laughed good-naturedly. "Okay, okay, I'm going." He turned serious again just as he stepped through the front door. "You behave, too," he reminded the judge.

Hardcastle rolled his eyes. "We'll _both_ behave," he said, and shoved the young man toward the car.

**00000**

McCormick was grinning as he looked across the table at EJ Corlette. "I'm tellin' ya, EJ, it was great. As the judge would say, that car will really go like stink!"

Corlette returned the grin. "That's good to know, Mark. Don's going to be sorry he missed this, but with his kid getting sick all of a sudden, he just couldn't make it. But I'll give him a full report."

"It really is too bad," McCormick answered consolingly. "Still, it's just the engine, not your actual car; he'll get to be around for all the really good stuff. But give him my number and tell him he can call if he needs any more specific information about the runs out here."

EJ nodded. "I will." He paused a moment. "But while we're on the subject of people not in attendance, how'd you manage to make it out here without a chaperone?"

McCormick tensed slightly and shrugged. "I'm not a prisoner, ya know," he said with just a touch of defensiveness.

"Yeah, I _do_ know," Corlette placated, "and I didn't mean anything by that. I just expected the judge to come with you. I mean, besides you being on parole, it seemed like you two were pretty close. I thought he'd be here, is all."

"Sorry, EJ." Mark shook his head slightly. "I'm just a little beat. Anyway, it's no big thing. I wanted to come alone, so the judge let me, that's all." He rubbed his hands across his eyes and returned his attention to the steak dinner in front of him, hoping the conversation was finished. He'd given the topic a lot of thought during his solitary drive, and the last thing he wanted to do was try and explain his motivations to someone else now that he'd realized he didn't completely understand them himself.

**00000**

Milton Hardcastle poked at the pork chop on his plate, then moved the corn around aimlessly. When he had fired up the grill over an hour ago, the simple meal had sounded perfect. But now, with the food barely touched after sitting long enough to grow cold, he realized it wasn't what he wanted at all. Finally, he grabbed the plate and moved from the kitchen table to the counter top. He pulled a sheet of aluminum foil across the plate and stuck the entire thing into the refrigerator. He pulled a cold soda from the fridge and a pack of cookies from the cupboard, and stalked toward the den.

He flipped on the television, then settled into his favorite chair. He was ready for an evening of John Wayne, though he found his thoughts continually drifting to Nevada. "Quit worryin'," he muttered crossly to himself. McCormick had had the decency to call when he arrived at the hotel, so he knew the kid made it safely to his destination. Unfortunately, he'd taken a quick trip to the store and missed the call, so he hadn't had the chance to issue any more warnings about being on good behavior. Not that the kid really needed a warning. He'd been doing a pretty good job at sticking to the straight and narrow, and he didn't need a retired judge watching over him to keep him in line. Not anymore.

Hardcastle shook his head suddenly and tried to focus on the movie. The last thing he wanted to do was sit here and think about whether or not he held any more use for Mark McCormick.

**00000**

"Milt? Milt!" Hardcastle felt the nudge on his shoulder and turned to see Frank Harper holding a carefully balanced tray of beer and snacks. "You wanna take some of this?" the detective asked.

Hardcastle mumbled an apology, and took the two cups from the tray so that Harper could sit down without too much difficulty. Once his friend was situated, he traded him a beer for a hot dog, then set the tray with the popcorn and chips down on the concrete between them.

Harper surveyed the infield, watching the batting practice appreciatively. "This was a good idea," he said, folding the foil wrapper down around the bun. "Too bad Mark's missing it." He winced slightly. "Sorry."

The judge waved off the apology. "I never said you couldn't talk about him. And it's not like this is the first weekend I've spent without him, ya know."

Harper just smirked and kept his thoughts to himself. "Hey, I hope Hershiser gets a lot of strikeouts today."

Hardcastle grunted his agreement around the bite of frankfurter. But the entire afternoon he wondered more about the outcome of a racing event taking place hundreds of miles away than the baseball game twenty yards in front of him.

**00000**

McCormick could feel his vision narrowing down, focusing only on the last quarter mile and the checkered flag that was waiting to fall. The Nova that was half a car length behind him was no match for the Camaro under his control, and everyone else was at least half a length behind the Nova. He gripped the wheel tighter, and cast one final look in his mirrors. Then, with a grin, he pushed the accelerator just a bit harder, watching his competition fall farther behind as the final flag waved him home.

**00000**

"I still can't get over how easy you made that look, Mark." Corlette clapped him on the back as they walked into the bar. "It's like you were playing with them." He paused, then added, "I used to wonder how you beat _me_ as often as you did, but I never stepped back to watch. It's always been fun for you."

McCormick shrugged, but since he'd been wearing the same goofy grin for the past several hours—_most of the weekend, really_, he admitted to himself—there wasn't much point in trying to argue. "It _is_ fun," he replied simply, "and I can't thank you enough for letting me come out and play."

Corlette ordered a bucket of beer from the waitress, then turned back to McCormick. "Maybe you'd like to come out and play more often," he suggested lightly.

McCormick's hand froze halfway toward the beer nuts. After a second, he managed to grab a few nuts from the bowl, and forced a single word out through his surprise. "What?"

EJ grinned. "You heard me. Look, when Don and I finish with the prototype, we're going to need a regular driver. Since it can't be me, I can't think of anyone I'd rather have behind the wheel. What do you say?"

Mark just laughed. He directed his answer to the approaching waitress. "For the record," he said, grabbing a bottle from the pail she'd just placed on their table, "I'm drinking with a crazy man tonight."

Corlette grabbed his own bottle and winked at her. "I won't even try to deny it," he said. "But do me a favor and don't let this thing get empty tonight. We're here to celebrate."

"Well, congratulations, boys," she smiled. "A special occasion, is it?"

"The first of many," Corlette answered, raising his bottle toward McCormick.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Mark laughed, but he raised his bottle to meet Corlette's, and tried not to notice that there was something missing from his victory party.

**00000**

"Hey, Hardcase, I'm home!" McCormick bellowed his greeting on the way to the den.

"In the kitchen, McCormick!" came the answering shout, and the young man headed toward the voice.

"So, the prodigal son returns, eh?" Hardcastle grinned as the ex-con entered the room.

"And just in the nick of time, too; that's a lot of pizza for one guy."

"I know this is your idea of a culinary delicacy," the judge teased, dropping a loaded slice onto the plate. "I thought you might be hungry after your drive."

McCormick propped himself against the counter top. "Then it really _is_ good timing. That stuff's still dripping hot."

"You said you'd be back at six," Hardcastle said simply.

Mark smiled to himself as he crossed to the fridge for drinks. "What's your poison tonight, Judge?"

"I'll have soda, but I bought some more beer; it should be cold by now."

McCormick shook his head. "Not today, but thanks." He grinned. "Might be a while before I'm really in the mood for a beer again."

"So you had a good time?" Hardcastle asked as he dropped into a chair.

"Yep." McCormick took his own seat, then busied himself with rearranging pizza on his plate. After a moment, he glanced up briefly. "I appreciate you lettin' me go, Judge," he said softly, then returned his attention immediately to his meal.

Hardcastle stared at the curly hair for a moment, confident of what was running through the young man's mind, and wondering how long it might take him to ask for his freedom. And, wondering just what the hell his own answer was gonna be. But when he finally spoke, it was with his typical gruffness. "So you gonna tell me how ya did?"

McCormick grinned. "I won. It was great, Judge, really. You shoulda- -" He broke off and stared across the table, only to find a wistful smile on Hardcastle's face. The young man thought carefully as he took a long swallow from his soda. _Idiot. What were you thinking?_ _You call EJ tonight and tell him no._ He placed the can back on the table. "Yeah," he continued sincerely, eyes fixed on the judge's, "you shoulda been there." _And I shoulda known that already._ "Will you come next time?"

"When next time?" Hardcastle inquired, bracing himself.

But McCormick just shrugged. "I dunno. Whenever I get another chance at it. But you'll come, right?"

Hardcastle smiled slightly. _Idiot. He's not going anywhere. What were you thinking?_ But he picked up a slice of pizza, determined not to let too much relief show. "Of course I'll come, kiddo. That's what friends are for, right?"

McCormick just laughed as he grabbed his own slice. Eyes twinkling, he warned, "I'm gonna remember you said that, Judge."


End file.
